Young Love (is Just a Game)
by in48frames
Summary: AU. At the beginning of his senior year, Jake Doyle is ready to conquer high school. That doesn't last long. With a terminally uncool best friend and the niece he feels responsible for, it was never going to be easy. When he meets Leslie Bennett on the first day of school, he thinks the year may be looking up. That doesn't last long, either.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **_I have three chapters of this (total) that will be posted before the S6 premiere. After that point I will either continue the fic later (if there's interest) or not (if there isn't). Let me know if you like it, and if you don't, c'est la vie. Thanks for reading!  
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><p>Though he'd never tell a soul, Jake fairly bounds out of bed on the first day of his senior year. The long shadows his siblings had cast over his high school career have all but worn away, and this is Jake's year to finally rule the school.<p>

He's been planning his entrance for weeks, cruising into the student lot with the windows rolled down and his elbow on the sill. His car may be a beater but it's more than most kids have, and the leather jacket he picked up midway through the summer _screams_ cool. Just not, like, temperature-wise, because it's still pretty much summer, but sacrifices must be made.

He stands at the mirror in the bathroom and flicks his collar up, running a comb through his hair and practicing his smirk, a quick tick of his chin to acknowledge girls in the hall. Looking pretty good. He can afford to be confident.

Skipping breakfast, he fills a travel mug with coffee and then yells up the stairs, "Come on, Tinny! Get your arse down here." She skips down a second later, her backpack still dwarfing her even though she's almost twelve. As she hops from the second-last step to the floor, he reaches out and ruffles her hair. "Ready for first day of grade six?"

"Jake!" she yelps, ducking away and reaching up to fix her ponytail. "Don't be a jerk!"

"Sorry, little one," he says as he holds open the door to the garage. "Are you excited?"

"Whatever." She rolls her eyes and scoffs as she reaches for the passenger side door.

"Ey!" he says, shooing her. "You're still in the back, munchkin."

She tsks and swings around into the back seat.

As he shifts into reverse, Jake looks into the rearview mirror and says, "You know how short you are, right? Like, you can't even reach the cupboards without a stool."

"Shut _up_, Jake!" She crosses her arms and scowls out the window and Jake grins at himself in the mirror.

Moments later, they pull up outside of Walter's. Jake beeps the horn, then hits it three more times. Soon enough Walter bursts out the front door, awkwardly hopping on one foot as he tries to pull his other shoe on, his shirt untucked and misbuttoned.

When he slides into the passenger seat, Jake shifts into drive and says, "You're bad for my image, you know, Walter."

"You're deluded, Jake," he says back. Half-turning, he waves to Tinny and says, "Hey Tinny."

She acknowledges him with a tip of the head and continues to stare out the window. Jake and Walter exchange a knowing look, then Jake glances down at Walter's leg, bouncing like a jackhammer.

"You nervous, b'y?

"No," he says, the _duh_ clear in his tone.

"Come on," Jake says, flicking on his turn signal and pulling smoothly into the kiss'n'ride at the elementary school. "It's senior year—Bye, munchkin!—and we finally get the chance to be on top. What's to worry about?"

"I'm not worried," Walter replies belligerently. He puts a hand on his knee to stop the bouncing, then starts tapping his fingers at the same quick pace.

Jake just sighs and keeps his focus on the road. If he were perfectly honest, he's got some nerves swimming around in his belly too, but no one's going to be able to tell—he's determined of that.

As they pull into the lot, someone steps out in front of the car and Jake curses at the top of his lungs, slamming on the brakes. They creep forward and Jake hunches over the wheel—the lot is almost full of cars and the empty spaces are filled with students walking to and fro with little concern for the cars' right of way.

By the time they're parked, Jake feels like he's been through the ringer, and he sits back in his seat, letting out a long frustrated sigh.

"Nothing to worry about, right Jake?" Walter says smugly, watching him.

"Shut up, Walter." Checking himself in the mirror, Jake scrubs his hands over his face and tries to loosen it up, dispel some of the grumpiness. Then he fixes his hair.

Homeroom assignments are pinned to the board opposite the front doors, surrounded by a mob five people deep, and the process of getting close enough to read his assignment is enough to remind Jake that, actually, he isn't king of anything. The school is full of kids just like him, except probably smarter and better at sports.

At least, he thinks, as he walks into his English class homeroom and sees Nikki in one corner and _three_ former hookups scattered around the rest of the room, Jake still gets the girls. He ducks his head and salutes the whole room with two fingers, hoping that will cover it.

The rest of the morning passes uneventfully (even if, actually, most of the girls completely blank him—especially the ones he already knows) and Jake and Walter meet up outside the cafeteria at lunchtime.

"So?" Walter says, hitching his backpack up on his shoulders. (Jake carries one book in the crook of his elbow and one pencil jammed in his front pocket. Walter has, Jake swears, the biggest knapsack he could find in the store, and he carries every book he could possibly need at all times. It's frankly embarrassing and unnecessary.)

Jake shrugs. "Looking a lot like last year, so far. Although—" He eyes the tide of students washing past them into the cafeteria. "—the grade nines look about Tinny's age."

"Still feeling like a king?" Walter says, nudging Jake's shoulder with his own. When Jake makes a face, Walter says, "Aw. Don't be sad, Jake-y boy. It's only the first day."

"Yeah, well, once I see a girl I haven't hooked up with or known my whole life I'll have more faith. You'd never know we lived in the biggest city in Newfoundland."

"The _only_ city in Newfoundland," Walter replies as they join the line snaking past the lunch counters, and Jake snorts.

Stopping briefly in the doorway with their trays, they survey the room, Jake with a cool (faux) apathy in his eyes, and Walter—Jake knows without looking—tense with worry.

Latching on the first empty space he sees, Jake leads a weaving path through the crowded assortment of tables. There is no organization to this chaos, just a seething roaring mass of teenage humanity. In later days they will likely go off-campus for lunch, but there's a kind of ceremony to the first day, a presentation and an introduction.

With that in mind, Jake scans the room from his seat, eyes jumping from person to person as his notice lands and passes, nothing grabbing him.

Until something does. Or, more accurately, some_one_. Far side of the room, closest to the wall, surrounded by girls but looking lost. Blonde hair in a ponytail, petite, and absolutely stunning.

Jake realizes he's sitting with his mouth hanging open when Walter says, "What?" and turns around, blocking Jake's sightline.

"Don't look!" he says, way too late, and Walter stares for a minute too long before turning back with a resigned look on his face.

"Well, there you go."

Jake grins. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy." He pushes his food around with his fork, staring into space. "What do you think, hard to get?"

"Girl that gorgeous?" Walter says, taking a bite and saying with his mouth full, "Definitely."

"You're disgusting." Jake throws a napkin at Walter's face good-naturedly. "Oh yeah, senior year is definitely where it's at."

"Mmhmm," and they've been best friends long enough that Jake knows _exactly_ what he's not saying. _Until she chews you up and spits you back out, sure. Until she shreds your heart to bits._

Whatever. He survived Nikki, he's stronger for it, and anyway, Jake rarely gets his heart involved. Walter's concern is ridiculous. But touching, Jake supposes.

"You're a good friend, Walter," he says magnanimously, and Walter snorts.

After lunch, Jake has his one elective: Law II. It's not exactly that his dad expects him to follow in his footsteps—just look at how Christian and Kathleen turned out. But there, too, the shadow persists; Jake is Malachy's last hope, really.

Anyway, he really enjoyed Law I last year, and—major plus—the blonde from lunch is among the students, with an empty desk next to her. He grins, crossing the room quickly and dropping into the seat.

Leaning across the aisle, he sticks out his hand and says, "Hey, are you new? I'm Jake."

She turns, raising her eyebrows at his hand but shaking it firmly. "Yeah, hi. Leslie."

"Are you in grade twelve?" His dad always said you could measure a man by the strength of his handshake, and Jake likes to apply the same standard to girls. She's physically tiny but her handshake isn't shy at all and he's impressed.

"No, eleven, but I took Law I last year at my old school."

"Oh, cool. I hope you like Mr. Jennings. His Law I was my favourite class last year."

She smiles mildly and turns back to the front as the teacher calls the class to order. Jake is never the most attentive student but he spends a bit too much time watching Leslie out the corner of his eye. He tends to gravitate toward brunettes—a fact driven home today as he keeps running into girls he's crushed on or hooked up with—but Leslie might just change his mind. She is so cute.

As they gather their bags to leave, Jake leans in to Leslie again, saying, "Can I help you find your next class?"

She offers the same mild smile and says, "No, thanks. I've got it."

Jake stumbles over his own feet, trying to stop himself so he doesn't follow her out into the hall. The rejection stings, half the class glancing back at him as they exit the room and he remains, pretending to look under his desk for a dropped pencil. He really needs to work on his rep.

His next class is Weight Training, which he somehow managed to talk Walter into taking too, and Jake tells him about his encounter while they change.

"I'm going to try again—obviously. Might check out the elevens hall after final bell."

Walter rolls his eyes as he pulls his white t-shirt over his head. "You don't wanna look desperate."

Jake scoffs. "Oh, please." Pulls his shirt on, tugs it into place, then says, "Ya think?"

"Right on the edge, there."

"Hm." He sits down to tug his shoes on and tie the laces, staring into space as he thinks. "What if I forgot something in English and I'm just passing through the hall on the way?"

"Whatever, Jake. Does it even matter?"

"Pfft, no." He leads the way to the door, pulling it halfway open and then turning back. "I just—"

"Okay, Jake! Go with the English excuse."

"Okay!" he says back, swinging open the door and walking out. "Thanks."

They spend the hour getting to know the machines, Walter winding up beet red and dripping sweat. Jake sympathizes and should by rights wait for Walter and offer to drive him to Moo Moo's for ice cream, but instead he changes at lightning speed and calls over his shoulder, "I'm gonna offer her a ride, take the bus!"

"Thanks a lot," he hears faintly in reply as he's speed-walking away.

At the base of the elevens hall he slows, plunging into the sea of teens and scanning for a blonde ponytail. He trudges halfway through before spotting her, then veers over to her side of the hall and leans against the locker next to where she's digging around.

"Hey," he says, super casual.

She looks up, brows furrowed, face growing more confused when she recognizes him. "Uh, hi. Don't the seniors have their own hallway?"

"Yeah. I just left something in my English class and I was going to grab it and I spotted you here." He smiles his most charming smile, crossing one foot over the other. "I thought maybe you could use a ride, if you take the bus."

She looks so unimpressed he could just break down and cry. "Thanks for the offer… but I don't really know you, no offense. I'm fine on the bus."

Jake feels his smile stretch and turn slightly desperate even as he nods quickly. "Fair enough." He pushes off the locker and flashes his hand in a wave. "See you Thursday," he says, before plunging back into the crowd and moving away at all possible speed. He's probably missed Walter by now so he just heads back to his car to pick Tinny up from the elementary.

At the car he thumps his hands on the steering wheel, sighing loudly before driving out. When Tinny hops in the back seat, he says, "Hey munchkin," with defeat in his tone.

"What's the matter with you?" she asks curiously.

"Aw." He catches her eyes in the rearview mirror and tries on a smile. "You know, same old. Feel like an ice cream?"

She looks out the window, setting her jaw again. "Not really."

Turning toward Moo Moo's, Jake says, "You can have a taste of mine if you change your mind." He ends up getting enough for Mal and Rose too, in a sudden burst of consideration. They're sitting at the kitchen table when Jake and Tinny get home and Mal calls out.

"Get your behinds in here!"

The young'uns exchange an eye roll but tromp in, dropping the ice cream on the table and fetching their own mugs of coffee.

"Isn't this nice," Rose says, smiling up at them. "Sit down and tell us about your days."

Tinny sighs the sigh of the forever inconvenienced, slumping down into her chair and saying, "Whatever. It was school."

"Yeah," Jake adds. "School."

"Tell me one good thing."

Digging her spoon into one of the tubs of ice cream, Tinny jams it in her mouth and says around the mouthful, "Ice cream is pretty good."

Jake thinks of Leslie and how she _could _have been his one good thing, and then remembers how she shut him down and sighs. "Yeah," he says again, dispirited. "Ice cream."

Across the table, Mal is giving him a look, which he tries to ignore.

"I've got a guess for one of you," Mal says eventually. "Meet someone, Jake?"

He groans loudly. "I don't wanna talk about it."

Rose leans back in her chair and sips her coffee, smiling over the rim at him. "Day one and already 'I don't wanna talk about it.' Moving a bit quick, aren't you, Jake?"

He drops his head into his hands, elbows on the table. "She's not interested, okay? It happens. I just want to forget all about it."

Mal and Rose exchange a glance, eyebrows raised, so _clearly _enjoying his misfortune and he's tempted to just go upstairs but at the same time he kind of wants to express, at the very least, his frustration.

"Since when do you let that stop you?" Mal says, and Jake sighs.

"It was the _level_ of disinterest, you know? It doesn't feel like she's playing hard to get. She just _doesn't care_."

"But you don't really know her yet," Rose says.

"Yeah. I guess."

"You must like her if you're this much of a grump over it," Mal adds.

He sighs again, dropping his hands and tracing shapes on the table top with one finger. "Whatever. She's pretty."

"Our Jake," Mal says, looking at Rose again. "Deep as a kiddie pool."

"Thanks," Jake says shortly, standing up. "I'm going upstairs." He grabs his coffee and one of the tubs of ice cream, hearing Tinny's chair scrape out behind him as he heads for the stairs.

Their voices follow them up, Mal saying, "We have such pleasant children," and Rose replying, "Raised 'em right, you did, Mal."

Jake closes his bedroom door firmly behind him, setting his coffee down on the desk before flopping back on the bed with ice cream in hand. He props the tub on his chest and spoons the rapidly melting dessert into his mouth, too depressed to sit up. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he fishes it out to see a text from Walter. Ignoring it, he decides to torture himself by pulling up the Facebook app and searching their school network for Leslie's profile.

The only result that fits has a picture of Cape Spear with no blonde hair in sight, and almost none of the fields filled out or set to public. Well, that was helpful. He taps out a reply to Walter, updating him on the Leslie situation, then drops his phone to stare at the ceiling and tip the rest of the melted ice cream into his mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **_The three-chapter thing is not happening, since this AU is eating me alive. It'll probably be five or six parts total. Please let me know if you're reading! Thanks._

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><p>It's a coping mechanism, mostly, when Jake decides to step back a bit. Outside of one particular classroom, he carries on with his usual act, being the guy he has grown accustomed to being. But he doesn't throw away that hour he shares with Leslie—in the loosest definition of the word 'share.' Law was already one of his favourite classes, and if everyone around him questions why he's suddenly paying studious attention in class, raising his hand, turning assignments in on time, well, nothing wrong with a little mystery.<p>

He's learning; that's what school is for, isn't it? Learning things like Leslie's dad is also a retired cop. Learning that she's passionate about fighting corruption in politics and policing. Learning that she wants to answer every question, but instead counts out on the fingers of one hand—one, two, three, four—only raising her hand for every fifth answer. He wonders who gave her that advice. Wonders who would put limits on her bright and inquisitive mind.

Wonders if she's altogether too smart for him, anyway.

He knows the answer to that: yes. No question to it at all. But he's got other skills, like trading in his most charming smile for his most sheepish, instead, when she happens to glance over at him after he finishes speaking. Not only agreeing with her, because he learned long ago (say, kindergarten) that that doesn't work as well as instinct says it should. Bringing up fresh arguments, offering other points of view—in short, using up all his brainpower for the day in one short hour. It's worth it, because sometimes that sheepish smile draws a shy one in return, and on those days he drives home humming a tune.

Midway through October, Jake stays a minute after class to ask Mr. Jennings a question about the next assignment—"I don't know what's going on with you, Doyle, but keep it up"—and Leslie does too. He books it out the door after, not wanting to give the impression he's waiting around for her or anything creepy like that, but he's stopped in the hall by a dense mob.

He tilts up on his toes, looking to the centre of the mass to see what's up, and finds a circle of tall boys pushing around someone much smaller and scrawnier. Jake looks around, hoping someone else will step forward, but everyone's just watching and cheering on the fight, so he sighs and pushes in.

When he gets closer, he sees that the tall kids only really look tall in relation to the boy they're knocking around, and probably the whole group is made up of minor niners. Jake's got at least three inches and forty pounds on the biggest, so he steps into the middle and puts his hands up, saying, "All right, that's enough."

"Mind your business," the big one says, turning to the side and spitting on the linoleum.

Jake rolls his eyes—that's disgusting, uncivilized, not to mention unsanitary—and steps closer, putting his hands on the other guy's shoulders. "Listen, fella, you can turn and walk away or you can take one on the chin. I don't much care which you choose."

"Who you callin' fella?" he says, blustery, eyes darting around to his other friends (who, to their credit, don't step in).

Looking over his shoulder, Jake sizes up the kid they were picking on, quick. He looks like a scared bunny and Jake realizes that if he throws the first punch this is going to get very ugly, very fast. Not worth it.

He steps back, lets his shoulders fall to make himself look smaller. "You're right, man, I don't know you. But this guy—" He looks back again, reaching out his arm to hook it around the skinny neck of the niner, tugging him forward to stand at his side. "—he's a real good buddy of mine, so you know, I would appreciate it if we could just let the dust settle here."

The big kid, leader of the pack, scoffs. "Whatever, dude. Let's go." He turns, his boys right behind, and they face down the mob of kids still watching. Eyes are already turning away, no one wanting to pick beef with a bully that just got shut down, and the hall clears rapidly.

"Wow. Wow wow wow!"

Eyebrows drawing together, Jake turns to look at the kid beside him, who is suddenly all lit up and just about bursting out of his skin.

"That was awesome!" he says, bouncing up on the balls of his feet. "Wow!" He puts his fists up in front of him, throwing mock punches at Jake's shoulder. He crouches in a fighting stance, making himself even tinier, and Jake tugs him up by the collar of his shirt.

"Okay, all right."

The kid just grins up at him, hooking his thumbs in the straps of his backpack. "That was so cool. You rock, man."

"Well, you're welcome," Jake says, turning away, but the kid grabs the hem of his shirt and tugs, not letting go until Jake stares him down incredulously.

Then he sticks out his hand. "I'm Des, and you just saved my life."

Sighing, Jake shakes his hand, surprised to find it firm and dry. "Jake. And you should get to class."

"Sure man, sure," he says, tugging his backpack up his shoulders again. He starts to walk backwards, waving one hand far too enthusiastically. "I'll see you soon!"

Jake hangs his head. What the heck did he just get himself into? He turns, knowing he'll be late for his next class himself, and startles when he sees Leslie standing by the door to their classroom, the only soul left in the deserted hall as the bell rings.

He smiles curiously at her and she takes a step forward, clasping her hands in front of her.

"That was really nice of you," she says, so quiet he has to strain his ears even in the dead quiet.

The corner of his mouth lifts, a half-laugh huffing through his nose, and he walks just close enough to be heard. "Yeah, well, I'm kind of known for my, uh, less than gentle persuasive tactics."

"And yet…" she says, tilting her head and smiling softly up at him.

"Yeah. Well." He tucks his chin into his chest, eyes on the ground, and she reaches out and puts her hand on his forearm. He looks up then and she lets her thumb sweep over the curve of his arm.

Then, without saying anything else, she ducks her head and walks away and Jake is left staring after her, deeply confused.

xxx

Two things change for Jake then. One, this Des kid starts following him around... like, everywhere. All the time. It's frankly weird. And two, Leslie looks at him a little different; a little more interested, a little less cautious. And that smile... it does things to Jake.

So when Jennings assigns a project to be completed in pairs and Jake sees Leslie's shoulders come up around her ears as she freezes in her seat, can anyone really blame him for leaning across that gap, tapping her arm, and saying, "Hey, wanna work with me?"

She looks equal parts relieved and terrified, nodding a tiny bit. "Okay."

The grin that takes over his face is uncontrollable and embarrassing, but what can you do. "Cool, I've got my car so we can go to the library or a coffee shop or my dad's office or the house or, um." He coughs, suddenly realizing how eager he's being. "You know. Whatever."

She tips her head down and away and he holds his breath until he can see her face again. It's only an instant before she looks back, but her eyes are soft and her lips barely curled and that doesn't make it any easier to breathe. "That sounds fine. Meet me at my locker?"

Jake nods, already thinking about how he needs to use his weight-training hour to work off his extra energy and spill some of his more absurd thoughts to Walter. "Sure. The car will be a bit packed, but you're small." He grins, standing up and grabbing her bag off the floor as the room starts to clear. "Kidding. There's plenty of room, but you'll have to make nice with Walter. He's harmless."

They head for the door, Leslie not saying much of anything in reply. As soon as they cross the threshold, Des pops up at Jake's side.

"Hi Jake! Lovely day today!"

"Yeah, hi."

Des turns to Leslie, waving excitedly before reaching his hand out to shake. "Hi Leslie! We haven't properly met. I'm Des, Jake's friend!"

Sighing quietly, Jake hands Leslie's bag over to her and says, "I'll see you in a few."

She smiles. "Bye Jake. Bye Des, pleasure meeting you."

Des waves again, then turns to walk at Jake's side. He's clearly suppressing something, wringing his hands until they get halfway down the hall and he bursts out with, "You're seeing her after school?!"

Jake gives him a look, but says, "Yeah, we've got a project to work on."

"Cool, Jake! It's your chance!"

"Shh," Jake hisses, glancing back the way they came. "Don't say stuff like that. If you scare her off, you're dead."

"Oh boy." Des mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key, but a second later says, "I'm just saying, Jake! I'm rooting for you."

Jake sighs again. The kid is hopeless, but he's just so _earnest_ about it. "Thanks, man. We'll see."

xxx

When the final bell rings, Jake and Walter walk back to Leslie's locker. Worrying about his eagerness was likely a wasted effort, since now Jake feels distinctly like he's walking to his doom, grim and silent with Walter at his side.

They see Leslie before she sees them, bent in front of her locker, filling her bag and glancing anxiously down the hall every few seconds. Jake's heart does a stupid little stutter as he waits for her to spot them, at which point he waves his hand at waist-height and she smiles in relief.

"Didn't think I'd leave you hanging, now, did you?"

She ducks her head, blushing. "No."

Stopping a foot short, Jake leans against the wall of lockers and gestures at Walter. "This is Walter, he follows me everywhere I go, and I need to drop him off on the way, if you don't mind."

"Of course." She stands, holding out her hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Walter. I'm Leslie."

"Oh, I know," Walter says dryly, and Jake smacks him hard on the arm. "I mean, nice to meet you too. I haven't heard a thing about you, this guy doesn't talk about you at all, never mentioned you, in fact."

"Shut up, Walter!"

She turns quickly back to her locker, but Jake can just see a smile on her face and doesn't know what to make of it. Grabbing a key chain off the hook, she drops it into her bag and then closes and locks her locker. Before she can reach for it, Jake's swinging her bag up over his shoulder and turning down the hall.

"I'm just in the senior lot. You been there?"

Leslie walks between them, hands clasped in front of her, and shakes her head. "Nope. Only got the one senior friend with a car." She casts a shy smile to the side and Jake thinks, _Friend? We're friends?! Score._

"Well, any time you need a ride," he says, "you just gotta ask. I'm a taxi service as it is."

"Oh yeah," Walter interjects (not that he's not a part of the conversation, but, well). "I'm sure it's such a hardship cartin' me around, not like we're friends or anything."

"You hear a baby crying?" Jake says, grinning. "What the heck's a baby doing in the high school?"

"I'm gonna kill you, Jake."

Leslie rides shotgun, obviously, and Walter grumbles quietly as he wedges himself into the back seat.

When they pull up outside the elementary school, Jake says, "This will be my niece, Tinny. She's in a bit of a grump, but don't take it personally."

A minute later, Tinny is hopping in the back, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at Walter and then looking forward to Jake and Leslie, staring at the back of Leslie's head.

As he starts to pull away from the curb, Jake says, "Little one, this is Leslie."

"Leslie?!" she almost yells, incredulous, but before she can make Jake drive off the road Leslie is turning around, offering her hand over the back of her seat.

"Glad to meet you, Tinny." She pauses, as Tinny begrudgingly shakes her hand, and then smiles and says, "I see you got all the good genes in the family."

Tinny remains wary, looking from Leslie to Jake and back again. "I'm surprised Jake managed to get you in his car."

"Tinny!" Jake yelps, and Leslie blushes, despite the fact that she didn't actually say anything all that inappropriate.

"We have a school project," Leslie says, turning around to face front and staring out the window.

"Uh-huh," Tinny replies, also staring out the window.

Jake and Walter lock eyes in the rearview, slightly bewildered, and then the car is pulling up outside Walter's house and he's saying, "You know, I could stick around," to which Jake responds, "Dream on, brother. See you tomorrow."

Then it's just Jake and two confusing girls that he can't begin to comprehend, so he keeps his lips buttoned until they pull up outside the Duke. He wants Leslie to feel comfortable, and okay, a little tiny part of him wants to say, _See? She's spending time with me. Willingly. See?_ and so they take the fire escape up to the office. Rose is at one desk with the laptop, Mal at the other with a pile of papers and folders in front of him.

"Hey," Jake says, waving one hand as Tinny swerves to the couch and Leslie hesitates behind him. "Okay if we set up to work here?"

"Of course," Rose says, getting to her feet. "But introduce us first."

"Ah, yeah. Rose, Dad, this is Leslie. Leslie, my dad and his wife, Rose. We have a school project."

"Well, that's just lovely." Rose walks the rest of the way forward, reaching for Leslie's hand and holding it between both of hers as she examines Leslie's face. "So nice to meet you, dear. Jake—"

He coughs loudly.

"—hasn't said a word about you."

"I'm hearing that a lot today," Leslie murmurs in reply.

Malachy joins them where they're starting to fill up the doorway. "Good to meet you, Leslie. Jake's not as dumb as he looks, I assure you."

"Yeah, thanks," Jake says, pushing past Mal and Rose and ushering Leslie toward the table. "Here we are." He hooks his foot around the leg of the chair, pulling it out for Leslie, and deposits her bag to the side, before rounding the table to take his own seat. Dropping his textbook on the table, he flips it open to the chapter they're working on.

"So we can use any case from the chapter," he begins, and keeps talking as Leslie looks at him, her eyes alert and intent, focusing on his eyes and then watching his lips move before flicking back up to his eyes. Jake has no idea what he's saying; all he knows is he could talk forever if she kept looking at him that way. After a while, she presses her lips together, trapping a smile, and he finally trails off.

"Right," she says, "so the important thing is to make sure we can detail both sides," and she goes on for not quite as long. It's Jake's turn to watch her, and... wow. He has a problem. She doesn't exactly shed her self-consciousness, offers her opinion like it's a gift that he may very well reject, but he can tell that under that caution is a confidence in her ideas. She knows what she thinks, what she believes, but she isn't sure other people will share her views, or accept them.

And Jake has a problem, because all he wants to do now is give her that acceptance she's been craving, accept absolutely everything about her. This isn't his ordinary crush. He's already in too deep, and this is the first time they've spent together outside of class.

He's screwed, to be blunt.

A few hours of surprisingly productive work later, Jake offers to drive Leslie home. Tinny will ride with Mal and Rose, so they're completely alone for the first time ever, and Jake has no idea what to say.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, because he's hungry, and she shoots him a look.

"I'll have dinner when I get home."

"We could... get something?" _Not like a date, I'm not asking you out on a date, at least not right now, although if you wanted it to be a date that could work too, but I'm just hungry, okay?_

There's a pause, and when Jake glances over she's squinting out the window. "I have to make dinner for my dad."

A breath whooshes out of him in relief, though he keeps it as quiet as he can. "Okay. Maybe another time."

She doesn't reply, but when he looks over again he can see the corner of her mouth ticked up, so he smiles too. When they pull up outside her house, she reaches for the handle but doesn't open it yet. She looks at him, looks away, looks at him once more. Finally she says, "I'll see you tomorrow," her voice soft, and Jake nods.

"See you tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

It took a little while—longer than Jake usually spends on a girl—but he seems to have gotten past one layer of Leslie's defenses. They're friends. Not best friends—they still don't talk that much, not about anything serious, but she's happy to see him in class, happy to work with him after school. A week into their project, Jake has had enough of seeing her eat lunch alone with a book and catches her at her locker after second. He invites her to eat with him and Walter and Des, and she looks shy-scared-happy-pleased. He can't stop smiling the whole rest of the day.

After three weeks, they turn in their papers, and a week after that Jennings is handing them back.

"I'm impressed, Jake," he says as he drops the paper on Jake's desk, and Jake stares at the A- at the top with his mouth hanging open. Leslie leans over the gap between their desks, looking worried, and then sits back smiling.

Jake waits until the bell rings and the noise in the room quadruples before he says, "Can I take you out for an ice cream to celebrate?"

Leslie looks at him curiously and says, "With Walter and Tinny too?"

"Um." He casts about for an excuse and settles with, "They have to get home, but I can drop them on the way."

She nods. "Okay."

Before they split up at the doorway, she smiles at him, looking genuinely happy, and Jake can't control his grin as he turns to walk away. Although Des pops up the way he always does, Jake barely hears his chatter, in his own little bubble and walking on air.

After dropping Walter and Tinny at their respective locations, Jake drives over to park behind Moo Moo's. They walk in to order, and then return to the car and blast the heat. It's edging into November now, and though the city hasn't yet been blanketed with snow, it is undeniably too chilly for outdoor ice cream consumption.

After they're settled, and before Leslie can dig into her ice cream, Jake raises his in a toast.

"To a job well done."

"Cheers," Leslie returns, raising hers in kind and gently tapping her tub to Jake's. She takes a bite, swallows, and then says, "Mr. Jennings seemed pleased."

"Surprised, you mean." He takes a bite of his own and goes on to explain, "I've never been the most spectacular student.

She eyes him pensively. "That's surprising to _me_. You work hard, and you're plenty smart."

"That's all you."

She opens her mouth to argue, and he holds up a hand.

"What I mean," he says, "is that you bring it out in me. I guess you make me want to try." Wow, that came out a lot heavier than he ever meant it to, and he wants to take it back, but as Leslie stares down at her ice cream with a tiny smile on her lips, he finds he's clean out of words.

He just watches her, his heart rising to his throat, and thinks about how badly he wants to touch her skin, run his fingers through her hair. He would trade almost anything for it, and he hates that.

Hates being so far past _in too deep_. Hates losing every last bit of his pride.

Loves it at the same time. Loves knowing there's more to it, more to him, than hot girls and hookups. Loves getting to be close to her, even though it sometimes feels like getting too close to the sun.

Some indeterminate and far-too-long time later, she looks up, quirking an eyebrow at him, and he looks away, clearing his throat. His ice cream is melting in his lap, and he picks it up, reaching for the door handle.

"I'm done. How about you?"

She hands her tub over, and he gets out to toss them both away before driving her home in silence.

As he shifts into part outside her house, he clears his throat again. "Leslie," he says, trailing off as she turns to look at him. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he clenches and unclenches his jaw before finally saying, "Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?"

When he looks up at her again, she's facing out the window, rubbing her fingertips over the seam between the door and the glass. He waits, though his heart sinks faster than a stone through air.

It feels like an eternity later when her mouth finally opens and she says softly, "I don't want anything to change."

All he can say is, "Oh." When he goes to bed, when he's alone with himself, he will argue until he's blue in the face. _What if it changes for the better? What if it's worth the risk? You can't hide your whole life from change._

But for now, all he says is, "Okay. Goodnight, Leslie."

"Goodnight," she murmurs, leaving the car without looking back. He watches her feet to the door, makes sure she gets in safe, then he drives home.

xxx

There's only one thing to do when a girl wants to be friends, and that's be her friend. For Jake, that's usually the end of the relationship, 'friends' a code word for thanks-but-no-thanks-and-goodbye.

Not so with Leslie, because they actually have formed a friendship, even if on Jake's end it started with _you're pretty, and cute, and whoops I have a massive crush on you_.

It's not as easy as _now we're friends and I don't like you that way, nor did I ever_, and Jake can't confidently state that he's sooo over her and not at all holding out hope. She hasn't changed. Her face is the same, her mannerisms, her brain, all the reasons he started liking her.

So, okay, yeah, he still likes her. Way too much. You can't just shut that off, you know? But he doesn't push; doesn't press his luck; doesn't ask her again.

Friendship. Cool. He loves having her as a friend. She brightens up every day she's in, which is most of them. He's not going to complain about something he easily could have missed out on altogether.

Feelings he can't control or erase, he tries to ignore. Works them out in the gym. Flirts, yes, with brunettes and redheads and tall girls and girls with a perpetual tan, confident girls and arrogant girls and girls who don't remind him of her, not at all.

Although he isn't particularly trying to hide it from her—they're friends, nothing more—most of the flirting happens outside of lunch or Law II and she just doesn't see it. He doesn't think anything of it—it's not a factor, right?

The last day of school before winter break, a girl on the other side of him in Law II introduces herself. Her name is Allison, she has long dark hair, and she gives him her number, says they should get together over break.

He uses his most charming smile, the one Leslie was immune to, and Allison narrows her eyes. She's the confident type, massively smart, but too straight-up to play hard to get, and he thinks he could have fun with her.

At the end of the period, Leslie grabs her bag and tears out of the room, not looking back or waiting for him, and Jake is frozen for a minute in his seat. Shit. He screwed up. How... did he screw up? Somehow he's made it this far without actually pissing her off, and now that he's done it he's entirely bewildered.

He asks Walter when he sees him five minutes later, "D'you know what's going on with Leslie?" Walter shrugs, as clueless as always, so Jake races to her locker after school and waits there until the hall clears out. Nothing.

On his way to his car, he types out a text. _Hey. Everything okay?_

The reply comes five hours later: _No worries._ That isn't convincing at all.

He tries, _You going to Hood's party?_ It's not a cool kids party—Jake wouldn't be invited to one of those. Hood hates him anyway, invited him out of spite, which means Jake has to go.

This time her reply only takes half an hour: _Wasn't planning on it. Maybe._

He groans. _Maybe I'll see you there, then._ If she doesn't show up, he'll try again. Maybe even use the actual telephone option on his cell. How typical this would happen immediately before break; he's going to be losing his mind with worry.

xxx

Christian has come home for the holidays with his standard level of mystery and intrigue, and offers to give Jake and Walter a ride to the party. Malachy grumbles about responsible drinking, and Rose tells them to keep their phones on and have fun.

Jake is on his third beer, standing at the edge of the living room with Walter, when a current passes through the room; some kind of commotion at the door. Straining to see what's going on, Jake gets a glimpse of a few girls who've just arrived, passing off their coats to reveal tight, short dresses over stockings, and heels that are too tall and skimpy to serve any real purpose in the cold.

It isn't until one of the girls hands off her coat and turns that Jake recognizes Leslie—her hair loose around her shoulders, face flushed, body soft and free of tension as she throws her head back to laugh. He started across the room as soon as he spotted her, weaving through the crowd, and reaches her just as her heel catches on the carpet and she starts to fall. He catches her, one arm around her waist and the other supporting her elbow, and it isn't until she looks up that she realizes it's him.

"Jake Doyle, as I live and breathe," she says, breathless, finding her balance and swatting at his hands. "I can stand, leave off." As soon as he does, she wobbles again, and he grips her elbow firmly.

"Let me help, Leslie."

"I don't need anyone's help, but certainly not _yours_, Jake Doyle."

Despite the stench of beer that permeates the party, he smells whiskey on her tongue and tries not to take offense. "Why don't we find you somewhere to sit down?"

"I'd rather have another drink; I bet you could help me with _that_."

"Okay," he says, to stop her fighting. "I'll show you to the kitchen." Instead, he leads her down the hall to a door marked 'KEEP OUT' and pushes in, shutting the door behind them and sitting her down on the couch before switching on a lamp.

She kicks off her heels and gets back on her feet, pacing the length of the room. "I don't see a sink, Jake Doyle."

"Would you stop calling me that?"

She stops, cocking her head at him. "That's your name, isn't it? Jake Doyle—you know, I heard stories about you."

He takes her spot on the couch, leaning his forearms on his thighs and watching her. "Did you now?"

"My sister," she says, stepping forward. "You know, she's younger than me, but she's the one who hears the gossip. Even about you. She warned me about you."

He tries to laugh, but his chest is tight. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear."

"Well, I didn't, did I?" She puts her hands on her hips, lifts her chin. "I gave you a fair shake."

"Yeah." He nods and gets back to his feet, stepping forward so there's only a few inches between them. "You did. So what's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing." She turns, walks back to the other end of the room, then comes back. "Nothing. You know what you like—Nikki, Alison—you've got a type, Jake Doyle." His name this time sounds wistful, as she tips her head back to look up at him, and he swallows hard.

"What?" he asks dumbly, confused.

She takes another step forward, curling her fingers in the fabric of his t-shirt, her head tipped even further back, her eyes soft. "You have a type."

He still doesn't know what she's talking about, but she's so close and he thinks there might be signals, he's a little fuzzy but it seems that way, and so he reaches around her waist and tugs her into him, his other hand coming up to cup her face as he leans down to kiss her. She pushes up into him, her hands on his waist steadying her, kissing him without hesitation or doubt. When she meets his tongue with hers, he groans, and then she's pushing away from him, backing across the room.

Eyes wide, she wipes the back of her hand across her mouth, then presses her fingers to her lips. Her cheeks are pink, her eyes damp, and all he can think is that he scared her.

"I'm sorry," he says, his hands coming up in what is meant to be a non-threatening stance. "I didn't mean—Leslie, I'm sorry."

She nods, her face crumpling, and turns her back on him, and he has no idea what to do. He would like to wrap himself around her, tell her it's all going to be okay, but he doesn't think that would be welcome. The thing is, he's confused now. Way more confused than he was. It seemed like she wanted him to kiss her, like she kissed him back, but now she's upset.

The alcohol probably doesn't help.

After a second, she clears her throat, swipes at her face, and turns back around. Keeping her head down, she shrugs one shoulder and says, "Don't worry about it, Jake. Will you let me get a drink now?"

_We're going to talk about this_, he thinks, but says, "Yeah, of course. Maybe just the one, though?"

She grimaces, pushing past him to the door, and he doesn't see her again for the rest of the night. Either she leaves or she does everything in her power to avoid him, and short of searching the house top to bottom he doesn't have many options, so he gives it up. Tomorrow. Tomorrow they'll talk.

xxx

His night is spent tossing and turning, dozing off only to have alcohol-fueled nightmares, and when the sun rises he texts Leslie, _I need to talk to you today. Please get back to me._ He does not expect his phone to start ringing seconds later, or for Leslie's name to come up on the caller ID.

"Hello?"

"_Jake?"_ Her voice is thick, muffled.

"Leslie? What's wrong?"

"_My dad is gone."_

"What?"

"_He's gone, Jake. I need your help."_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **_Hope everyone enjoyed the premiere last week! Thanks so much for reading!_

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, Jake is up and dressed and on the road, having banged on Mal's door and woken the entire household. Leslie meets him at the door, her eyes red-rimmed and her face drawn, and leads him through the house and into the kitchen, pointing out a note stuck to the fridge.<p>

"I figure the police won't believe me," she says, a tone of hopelessness in her voice. "He left a note."

Jake bends over to peer at the note, then takes a picture of it with his phone before shifting the magnet and picking up the sheet of paper. He holds it close to his face, inspecting the messy scrawl and the words it spells.

_Girls,  
>Family emergency in Brigus. Aunt Ellie needs me. Take care of each other—I'll be back soon.<em>  
><em>Love,<em>  
><em>Dad<em>

"Can you show me something else with his writing?" Jake asks, and Leslie hurries to the recycle bin, pawing through stacks of newspapers to find another note, written on a similar sheet of paper. This one is a grocery list: eggs, milk, and so on. Still rushed, still messy, but the letters are fully formed, the lines reasonably straight.

She watches him anxiously, wringing her hands. "I know something's wrong," she says, and then points behind the kitchen table at something Jake hadn't noticed, a chair tipped over on its side, a glass on the floor in a pool of water. He photographs that, too, as Leslie goes on, "He wouldn't just leave like this. It doesn't make any sense, it's not like him, I didn't know what—"

Jake finishes what he's doing, crosses to where she stands, and takes both of her hands, holding them gently and rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles. "Hey. I believe you. If you say something's wrong, then something's wrong. Where's your sister?"

"She had a sleepover last night. I asked her to spend the day there—I didn't want her to see this, at least not until we have more of an idea..."

"Okay. That's good. I'm gonna take you to the office now, and my dad and Rose will come over here to see if they can find anything else. Is that okay?"

She nods, squeezing his hands and looking miserable, and he draws her into a hug.

"We're going to do everything we can," he says quietly, running his hand over the back of her head, "and we won't stop until we have something. I promise."

She takes a breath, softening briefly, and then steps back, nodding with her head down. "Thank you."

Without another word, he leads her back to the car, driving in the direction of the office. When they're almost there he says, "Are you hungry?"

"I don't know," she says absently, staring out the window. "I'm not sure I could eat."

"It's a bit early for the kitchen to be open, but I can sneak in to make some eggs, or a grilled cheese... and that's the extent of my culinary skills."

She looks over, watching his face for a minute while he pretends he doesn't notice, and then says, "I could use some coffee. And I'll try a bite or two. Since you're going to all that trouble."

There's a little teasing in her voice and he glances over to see the ghost of a smile on her lips. He grins for just a second before wiping it off his face as he finds a place to park on Water Street. Unlocking the front door to the Duke, he holds the door for her and then walks past to lead the way into the kitchen. He drags a stool out from a corner, placing it on the other side of the prep table, and motions for Leslie to sit.

Then he heads to the fridge, opening the door and sticking his head in. "So, which menu item can I interest you in this morning?"

"Hmm," she says softly. "You pick."

"Well, I can never say no to a good grilled cheese." He grabs a block of cheddar and a pound of butter from the fridge, then turns to get a loaf of bread from the shelf. He stacks everything in his arms and carries it back to the prep table, setting his pile of ingredients down and rifling around for a knife, while Leslie leans her forearms on the table and watches him.

"Do you have any idea whether your dad was tangled up in anything dangerous?" he asks as he cuts open the cheese and starts to slice it on a chopping block.

Leslie looks down, grimacing. "It's... kind of embarrassing."

Jake watches her for a second, working by feel, then looks down again before he can cut a finger off. "Well, if you'd rather just talk to my dad about it, that's fine with me. Whatever you're comfortable with."

She doesn't reply for a bit too long, and when Jake looks up curiously she's staring at him with soft eyes. "I appreciate that. But no. I... I trust you..."

He isn't sure if he should be flattered, or offended that it sounded like she was saying she eats human babies or something else unimaginably terrible. He focuses on the food.

"He's been playing poker. Spending most nights at it. He wouldn't tell me anything, but I found a few loan tickets in his pockets when I was doing the laundry. He was in pretty deep."

"Ah," Jake says as he turns around and starts to grill the sandwiches. "Yeah, we've had some dealings with those folks. It's a substantial racket for this town."

"Will... are they gonna hurt him?" she says to his back, and he presses one of the sandwiches down with a spatula.

He doesn't answer until both sandwiches are a perfect golden brown, and he slides them from the griddle onto plates, carrying them over to the table and rounding it to set one plate in front of Leslie, placing the other a few inches over and pulling another stool up to the table. He sits down facing her, their knees brushing, and he lets one of his hands fall to rest on her knee. "I don't really know," he says gently. "Some guys have gotten a bit roughed up, but we can't prove anything, obviously. Nothing... uh, nothing serious, that we know of."

Her head falls again, her eyes closing, and Jake slides forward on his stool, reaching for her and folding her in his arms. She leans in to him, her fingers twisting in the fabric of his t-shirt, and he just holds her, running one hand up and down her spine.

When she shifts against him, it's to press one hand to his chest as she raises her head, looking into his eyes from so close he stops breathing altogether. The same hand slides up to curl around behind his neck, and she closes the distance between them, pressing up into him, their lips and their chests and she's mostly in his lap and kissing him like it's the cure she needs.

His hand is slipping down over her jean-clad thigh to secure her against him when there's a throat clearing in the doorway and they break apart with a gasp. The door to the kitchen is just swinging shut when they look up, and they have a few seconds to straighten themselves out before the door is pushed open again, Mal rubbing awkwardly at his neck.

"Uh, we're here," he says. "Whenever you're ready."

"Yeah, we're right behind you," Jake replies, eyes on Leslie.

She is blushing crimson and avoiding his eyes, and when Mal is gone she mumbles, "Sorry."

_Please don't apologize for the best thing that has happened to me all year. Why do we keep apologizing to each other for something we both clearly want? This is so ridiculous and now is not the time... but there will be a time._

Without a word, he picks up both plates and backs into the door, pushing it open for her to pass by, and then leading the way to the door to the office stairs. Upstairs, Mal is working on the bulletin board while Rose stands over the laptop, typing away at something.

"Hey," Jake says, putting the plates down on the table and pulling a chair out for Leslie.

Before she can sit, Rose comes over to wrap her arms around Leslie and say, "How are you holding up, sweetheart?"

"Not so great," she mumbles against Rose's shoulder as Malachy raises an eyebrow at Jake and is met with a glare.

"What you got?" Jake says.

Malachy explains what he's got on the board, and Rose tells them what she found looking into the cell phones of loan sharks they've dealt with before. There's some chatter that sounds promising, so Mal and Rose plan to visit the bar that acts as their home base. After checking that Jake and Leslie will be okay on their own, they head out, and Jake stares at the board, leaning against one side of the table while Leslie sits at the other end.

"You don't have to stay with me," she says after a minute.

"I do, actually," he says matter-of-factly, and she turns to look at him, eyeing him as she gets up and crosses the room, walking toward him and then invading his space, moving forward until their legs are interlocked and she can curl her fingers in his shirt again.

She apologizes first this time, breathing, "Sorry," on his lips before they touch.

He allows it long enough to drink her in, locking his arms around her waist so she has nowhere to go when he says, "Please stop apologizing." She frowns at him like that doesn't make any sense at all, and he asks, "What... are you apologizing for, Leslie?"

"I thought—" she starts, but stops short and shakes her head. "I... I don't know."

"You don't need to." He brings his hands up to cup her face, kissing her again and thinking that he's in so, so much trouble. "I wouldn't do this if I didn't want to."

"I just..." she murmurs, face tipped up and flushed pink, eyes closed. "It's probably a mistake."

_Ouch._ He drops his hands, resting them on the edge of the table behind him, but she's leaning up against him and nestled between his legs and, God, how is he supposed to function. "Not to me," he says flatly, and she blinks open her eyes, letting them meet his for the briefest instant before bouncing off and away.

Bringing her hands up, she pushes off his chest and steps back. If it is at all possible, her blush seems to deepen as she lowers her head and turns away, mumbling, "I'll be right back," and all but running to the bathroom.

When she comes out a few minutes later, she's more of a normal colour, though her eyelashes are dark and wet and her nose is still pink. She stands in the middle of the room, clasping her hands in front of her and twisting at the waist, edging away and away and then forcing herself to face him again, though she doesn't meet his eyes. "I'm upset about my dad," she says like an offering, and then delivers the next words as if she's reciting from a script, "but I don't want to give you the wrong idea. I think it's better if we stay friends."

His choices are to freeze solid or to reveal way too much and never be able to come back from it, so he freezes, his only movement his Adam's apple bobbing as he works to swallow. "Yeah," he says when he can get his lips to form words. "Sure."

She sits back at the table, head down, and Jake walks over to the window, staying there quiet and still until Mal and Rose return.

They come back with news, though it's not the best; the loan shark has sent Leslie's dad on a job in lieu of payment, driving halfway across the island and back again. He's on his way, so there's not much they can do right now, but the shark knows they're on the case and that he'll probably want to avoid any unnecessary mischief. Not as threatening as cops, but better than nothing.

Leslie's sister is able to stay with her friends, so Leslie comes home with the Doyles for the rest of the day and overnight. Tinny has been at home, finally old enough to be left alone, and she grudgingly agrees to spend time with them and help keep Leslie's mind off the situation. Card games hit a little too close to home, as does Monopoly, but Scrabble hits just the right note.

That gets them through until dinner, after which Jake drives Leslie back to her house to pack a bag. He follows her upstairs, but stays in the hallway, trying to give her space and privacy. On his way up the stairs, while he's avoiding staring at her behind, he thinks that he'll look at the pictures on the walls in the hallway. Everyone has pictures on the walls in the upper hall, right?

Not the Bennetts. Then again, they just moved in. That explains it, right?

Either way, he ends up staring at a spot on the wall, hands clasped behind his back, when he hears from the bedroom, "Hey." He moves to the door slowly, peeks inside just in case she's talking to someone else entirely. She's sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands folded in her lap, and she says, "You can come in."

He does, trying not to gawk as he looks around at the place where she lives. Her room is almost as plain as the hall; there are stacks of boxes in the corners, and while everything is neatly put away, the only sign of individuality is a photo on her bedside table. He leans over to pick it up, seeing a picture of a young Leslie with her sister and both parents. When he puts it back down, he faces her, and she pats the bed at her side. He sits down with a generous allotment of space between them, looking around the room again from that vantage point.

He thinks about the other parts of the house that he's seen, the living room and kitchen where everything is in its place, art on the walls and coasters on the coffee tables. It looks like the picture of a family home, but only where others might see. He almost doesn't even want to say anything about it, but when he looks at her she looks so sad and lost and he says, "You do a lot for them, don't you?"

She blinks, looking at him like he just pulled her back from somewhere far away, and shakes her head. "No, not really." Off his incredulous look, she adds, "My mom was gone, and my dad needed help. I did what anyone would."

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit," he says quietly, leaning his forearms on his thighs and staring at the floor.

After a moment, she says, "Anyway. It's just the way it is. I don't mind."

He loves her, he realizes suddenly. It's not a crush, a problem to be dealt with; it's love, and there's no getting out of it. Somehow, even though he doesn't see it ending well for him, it's a relief to realize this and to accept it. As difficult as it's been, sometimes—as difficult as he thinks it's going to get—he is so happy to love her.

He's never been in love, and at times thought he never would be (he's too young to think things like that, but it just felt true, you know?), but he knows there's value in it.

If he has to love her quiet and still—and he does, he knows that—he will find the value in it. It won't be far from the surface.

(Having realized this, he realizes also that he will tell her. Before this ends, before they part, if they do—he will tell her. He draws some small amount of strength from that. She will know—eventually.)

Clearing his throat, he looks over at Leslie just as she's turning away, and he stares at her for a second before saying, "I'll leave you to it, then."

She nods, and he walks back out into the hall, sitting down on the top step of the staircase. She appears behind him before long, and he takes her bag and waves her down the stairs.

Back at the Doyle house, the couch is made up for sleeping, and Jake sets her bag down beside it before fetching another set of blankets and a pillow, arranging his own bed on the floor. She sits near her pillow and watches him in silence.

"You don't have to do that."

He just looks at her—_I do, actually_—and she sighs, staring at her hands for a second before lying down on the couch with her back to him and pulling the covers up to her ear. He lies down, on the other side of the room, and stares at the ceiling until he finally manages to drop off to sleep.

When he wakes up, it's to a room full of light and a gentle presence close by. He's lying on his side, facing the front of the house and Leslie just inches away. He doesn't know how she got there, or what she meant by it, but she curves toward him like a parenthesis, fast asleep and peaceful, and he can't even lie there and appreciate it because it's killing him. He rolls to the other side, pushing up onto his knees and then his feet and fleeing to the kitchen, where he stays until the house wakes up.

They don't mention it.


End file.
